


Hurricane Jane

by effingbirds



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effingbirds/pseuds/effingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a rare hurricane hits Georgia, the group must take shelter in the tombs. Daryl brings his good friend Jack Daniels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a strange feeling in the air as they sat in the watch tower. He couldn't put it into words, but he'd felt it once or twice before in his life. Hours later the clouds changed, and his suspicions were confirmed; a storm was coming.

Carol seemed to read his mind as he nudged her with his shoulder.

“Hurricane?” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the sky.

“Something like that, at least,” he replied.

He got to his feet, and pulled her up as she extended her hand to him. She hung onto him for a moment before letting go. She'd been doing that more and more lately, and he didn't know what to make of it.

“We need to get inside,” he said, “Get shit ready.”

He could tell she was worried as they headed back to the prison, stewing silently in her own thoughts. He didn't fault her for that. Hurricanes rarely hit Georgia, and without having a weather forecast there was no real way to know what to expect. He figured they should prepare for the worst, just in case.

Ultimately the group decided to take shelter in the tombs. It was unlikely that the storm would be bad enough to necessitate that, but they weren't too sure about the tall windows across from their cells, and no one really wanted to chance getting a face full of glass shards.

He was helping Carol move mattresses down there when the first bands of the storm began to hit.

“Better hurry,” she said, though he knew she wasn't happy about spending time in the tombs. He wasn't sure if she'd even been down there since his timely rescue weeks before, and he knew even if she hadn't had such a traumatic experience there, her claustrophobia would probably bring her discomfort at the very least.

With that in mind he snuck back to his cell after everyone was settled in to grab something he'd been hiding away for quite a while. He paused to watch the rain lashing against the window, amazed by the force of it. The sound of debris banging into the building was clear as day. He was suddenly glad they'd been excessively cautious.

They hadn't discussed it, but somehow he and Carol had ended up sharing one of the solitary cells. He supposed they all could have slept together in the halls, but he figured Carol might want some privacy if she partook in the surprise he was bringing her. 

She looked up as he shut the door behind him, and smiled as he held the bottle of Jack Daniels out to her.

“Oh god, yes,” she said, and he laughed because he hadn't even been sure she'd be interested in it.

She opened it up and took a swig, only grimacing a little. He sat down beside her, glad he'd thought of this. She didn't relax often, and he figured with the stressful circumstances she could probably use it.

“I wish we had something to chase it with,” she said, ¾ of the bottle in. Her words weren't slurring yet, but he heard the potential there.

“Usually by this point people stop worrying about chasers.”

She laughed, and leaned against him.

“I'm just at the point where I stop worrying about impressing you.”

He shook his head, and handed the bottle back to her.

“You don't need to impress me,” he said, and he didn't even flinch when she laid her hand against his bicep and sighed.

They were about halfway through the bottle when she suddenly climbed into his lap, straddling him without warning.

“Hello?” he said, feeling panicked. She was definitely well on her way to being drunk, and the look in her eyes made him nervous. He didn't know where to put his hands, and he was immediately concerned with the reaction his body was having already. 

“You know, when I was younger... much younger, I somehow ended up at this hurricane party in Florida. Friend of a friend of a friend, you know how that goes.”

“What the fuck's a hurricane party?” he asked, putting his hands on her thighs in defeat.

“This, basically. I mean, with more people I guess. But basically, since you're stuck waiting on a storm inside somewhere, you might as well be stuck with a bunch of people and liquor, right?”

He shrugged. Apparently she was a chatty drunk.

“Well I think so, anyway,” she continued, “I mean I was never that into partying, even before the whole fucking... tsunami, trainwreck disaster of my marriage, but if you're going to be stuck somewhere indefinitely, might as well make the best 'f it. It was fun. I got laid.”

He was choking, suddenly, and pushed her back a little.

“I didn't need to know that,” he said, but she was apparently undeterred.

“Best sex of my life, really,” she said, staring at a space above his head, “And I hardly knew the guy. Friend of a friend of a friend.”

“Yeah, you said that,” he replied, wishing the bottle of liquor wasn't sitting just out of his reach.

“No, I said the party was held by a friend of a friend of a friend. This was a different guy. Makes me feel kind of slutty, though. That I didn't really know him. Sort of one of those out of character, out of body experiences. Very out of body. Out of my mind. Wouldn't mind having something like that again.” 

She smiled at him.

“Yeah. You said it was good,” he said, trying to ignore the fact that her cleavage was practically in his face. What the hell was she trying to do?

“Yeah. Great, really.”

“Why?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

“What?”

Shit. He hadn't meant to ask that.

“Um. Why... why was it so good?” 

He didn't actually want to know. He didn't want to think of some other guy fucking her. And he certainly didn't want to think about it while she was sitting on his lap.

“I could show you” she said, flashing him a grin.

He hesitated for a moment, but finally shook his head. He could smell the whiskey on her breath, and that was enough of a reminder.

“You're drunk,” he said.

“So?” she asked, and leaned forward to kiss him. He turned his head.

“We ain't gonna do this when you're drunk.”

He saw the hurt flash across her face, and he felt bad immediately. She slid off his lap, and flippantly told him it was “his loss”.  
She curled up at his side anyway, and buried her face in his shoulder. He reached over and took her hand in his.

“You can, um.... if you're sober, and you want that... yeah, that's... we can do that.”

She laughed, and reached for the bottle again.

“I'm gonna hold you to that.”

By the time they were down to a quarter of the bottle, she was passed out with her head in his lap, drooling onto his thigh. He was more worried about whatever the hell was on his pants this week getting on her face than her slobber getting all over his leg.

He gently rolled her to her side, and slipped down the mattress until he was laying beside her. She rolled over against him almost immediately, and he was buzzed enough that he was completely comfortable with the way her hand rested on his chest, and her legs tangled with his own. He fell asleep to the sound of her breathing quietly against his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

He awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the metal door to their cell. Carol stirred beside him, cracking an eye open and looking as though she immediately regretted it.

“Fuck,” she moaned and she rolled onto her back.

“Not quite,” he muttered as he stumbled to the door.

Rick peered in at him as he opened it.

“The uh,” he paused to peer around Daryl's shoulder at the scene behind him: Carol sprawled across the single mattress, her clothes in a state of disarray. “The storm's over, if you want to check out the damage.”

Daryl sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Yeah, gimme a minute,” he grumbled, just to get rid of him. He nudged the door shut, right in Rick's face.

He turned back toward the mattress, and watched Carol for a moment. They'd left a Coleman lantern on all night, and he could see Carol staring back at him with hooded eyes in the dim glow.

“Hangover?” he asked, shuffling back toward her.

She hummed in response as he flopped back down next to her. He settled onto his side, his head next to hers on the pillow.

“Not terrible. I've had worse.”

“Like at that hurricane party?”

She was quiet for a minute, and then she laughed.

“Jesus, I told you about that, didn't I? And the... uh, the guy.”

He nodded, and closed his eyes. He had no idea what time it was, but he wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep with her.

“Don't judge me too harshly,” she said, though he could hear the teasing tone in her voice. 

They lapsed into silence again, and as he began to drift into that dreamy state between sleep and wakefulness he felt her fingers trace his brow, and gently push his hair behind his ear. He jumped, and suddenly felt very, very awake.

“Remember what you said?” she asked softly, a hint of a smile on her face.

He could feel his face heating up, and suddenly it was too much. He pulled away and climbed off the mattress, glancing at her as he got to his feet. She looked vaguely disappointed, but not too surprised. She understood, he knew. She always did.

Still, he felt like a major asshole as he left the room to go find Rick.

*

The prison yard was a mess. Nothing was where it had been before the storm, and there was a heavy coating of wet leaves all over everything. He scuffed at the mess with his toe, and turned to look back at the prison. The structure didn't seem compromised in any way, but he wanted to be sure.

As the others filtered out of the prison and began the cleanup process, he found his way onto the roof via a hatch he'd discovered a few weeks back to inspect the damage. Bits and pieces of the roof were damaged, but it was nothing they couldn't fix. He told Rick as much when he climbed up to join him.

“The fences look ok from up here,” Rick said, “We'll need to go down and inspect them more thoroughly though.”  
Daryl nodded in agreement. The guard towers seemed fine well, though half the roof had blown off one of them. No big deal. 

He stared out into the woods, where he could see a clear path in the treetops, running straight toward the prison.

“Tornado?” Rick asked him, apparently seeing the line as well.

“Looks like it. If it was it didn't quite touch down though. Glad it didn't hit us, anyway.”

Rick didn't respond, and Daryl entertained himself by watching Glenn and Maggie moving a table that had blown across the yard. Everyone was out there working on one task or another except Carol. It seemed unlike her to leave the work to everyone else.

“Did you see Carol inside?” he asked Rick.

“Not since this morning. Maybe she's making lunch or something.” Rick stared at him thoughtfully. “You want to tell me what's going on between you two?” he asked after a moment.

“Nah,” Daryl said, and made his way back to the hatch. It wasn't anyone's business, and it wasn't like he had any answers for them if they asked. He didn't want to talk about it with anyone, and anyway he knew Carol was amused by the curious looks they got. Best to leave it alone for the moment.

After checking her usual haunts and coming up empty, he was surprised to find her in her cell, draped across her bed. Her arm was over her face, but she lifted it to look at him as he entered. 

“That good, huh?” he asked, sitting gently on the edge of the bed.

“Fuckin' dandy,” she answered, and he smiled. She so rarely cursed, and he always got a kick out of it when she did. 

“What's it like outside?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Not bad. Just messy, really.”

She hummed and closed her eyes. He sat silently next to her for a while, watching her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths until he realized where he was looking. He hadn't meant to. He glanced up to see if she had noticed and found her looking back at him with an amused smile on her face. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and she shrugged.

“I don't mind,” she said with a grin.

“You gotta stop saying shit like that.”

She sighed heavily, and an uncomfortable silence descended upon them. He could tell she was irritated, but he wasn't exactly sure why.

“I mean it, though,” she finally said, more than a little tersely, “I don't mind if you look at me. I wouldn't mind if you touched me, either. In fact, I'd like it. And I know you think I'm saying that just to mess with you, and sometimes I am, because it's funny to watch you squirm. But I'm tired of being subtle. Most of the time? I'd really like nothing more than for you to throw me onto the nearest surface and fuck me until I scream.”

He choked, and jumped off the bed as if the mattress had burned him. He didn't run out of the cell, because he knew it'd make facing her later on even worse, but he sure wanted to. He could feel her watching him as he paced in the tiny space.

“I really need you to tell me if that's something you aren't interested in,” she continued, “because I can't tell anymore, and it's getting to me.”

He crouched down on the floor and put his head in his hands.

“That's...” he said, and then stopped. He didn't know how to do this. Most of the women he'd been with before were just chicks he'd picked up at bars, or “spares” that Merle had brought home. He'd never had to actually communicate his desires with any of them. And with them, well, he didn't care what they thought of him. But he didn't want Carol to think he was being too forward or crass, or that sex was the only thing he wanted from her.

If only he knew how to express that without sounding like an idiot.

“Daryl,” she said, pulling herself off the bed and crouching in front of him. She looked like shit, and he felt bad for putting her in this situation while she was hung over. “You don't have to be afraid, if that's what the problem is. It's just me.”

He took a deep breath, and looked up at her. She looked serious, and she was wearing that steely gaze he rarely saw: the one that demanded an answer. 

“What, so what do you want from me, huh?” he asked testily, “You want to make some kind of schedule for when we can do it? Do you want me to fuck you right now?”

She sighed, but she didn't look angry.

“No, Daryl. I just want you to know that I'm ….ready for this, I guess. If you are. If you want me all you have to do is show it.”

He nodded and hesitantly touched her arm before making a hasty retreat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Well this went from being about hurricanes to something else entirely, ok. Just a short chapter I wanted to get out there.

The next few days were torture. He kept himself busy doing repairs around the prison and avoiding her as much as possible. She fell back into her normal routine, and acted as though the conversation in her cell hadn't happened. Still, it wasn't possible to avoid her at all times, and when they all gathered for meals he could feel her eyes upon him. She usually turned her head when he caught her, but more than a few times he saw the thoughtful look upon her face. 

He wasn't sure what he wanted. Or rather he knew what he wanted, but wasn't sure he was willing to make himself vulnerable enough to get it. He already belonged to her, just as she belonged to him, and they both knew it. It had been that way for a long time. As the anger over the whole Sophia situation faded, the connected they'd begun to forge during his hunt for her grew stronger, until they were connected in a way he'd never felt before.

But he was afraid to ruin that. The sex thing wasn't the problem; he'd been with enough women to know he was at least half decent in bed when he cared to be. But he'd never loved any of those women, and he'd never given a damn for what the consequences of sleeping with them might be.

And he loved Carol. This wasn't a revelation to him. He'd known for a long time. But loving someone and actually being able to express that love were two totally different things.

She was right, though. They'd been teetering on something bigger for too long, and it was time to make that final push. He just hoped that his clumsy advances wouldn't ruin things. He didn't know how to romance a woman, but he'd try.

*

He couldn't believe his luck as the injured deer led him right to a field of wildflowers. Girls liked flowers, he supposed, so he picked some for her. But the deer carcass bled all over him as he carried it back to the prison, and the bouquet was soaked with blood by the time he gave it to her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but she smiled at him just the same.

Later that night as he passed her cell, he noticed the flowers sitting on her table in a glass. She hadn't washed the blood off. He didn't dare ask her about it.

Two days later he went for a run with Glenn. He remembered her off-handedly mentioning a few weeks ago that she wished she had a larger selection of books, so he dragged Glenn to a book store with him, ignoring the awkward questions his destination brought up. He didn't really know what she liked, so he just grabbed whatever looked interesting.

He left them on her table, next to the withering bloody flowers. 

The next morning when he came down for breakfast, he was greeted with a very amused-looking Carol.

“Really, Daryl,” she said as she scooped eggs onto his plate, “The Stand?”

She didn't bother to explain when he said he didn't get why that was funny. She just handed him the book and told him to read it. He took it from her, frustrated. He didn't want to read, he wanted to... something. Clearly his advances weren't working out the way he wanted them to.

A few days later he went on another run, this time with Maggie. He decided to bite the bullet.

“I need advice, and I need you to not give me any shit about it.”

“Oh, that's nice,” she said.

“Shut up. Listen. What kind of gifts do girls like?”

She tilted her head and grinned at him.

“Carol?” she asked.

He cursed, but nodded anyway. It wasn't like everyone else was completely clueless.

“She's pretty practical,” Maggie said, “I don't think she'd be too interested in the things a lot of women would want.... jewelry or perfume.”

Daryl wrinkled his nose at that. He supposed they all smelled pretty bad these days, but natural, and perfume would probably seem too jarring to be pleasant.

“So what, like... fancy dish soap or something?” he asked.

Maggie snorted, and shook her head.

“As much as she'd appreciate it at any other point in time, if you try to woo Carol with dish soap you're never going to get laid.”

He felt his face turn red. “Ain't like that,” he mumbled, “I just wanted to...” He shook his head, unwilling to expose himself any further.

“How about a new knife?” Maggie suggested.

He thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. Time to find a hunting supply store.

She met them at the gate when they returned. He shoved the knife into her hands unceremoniously, and mumbled something at her; even he wasn't sure what. She gave him a bemused look as he wandered away.

After dinner that night, she called him into her cell.


End file.
